Our Bed
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: For WiseDraco's Birthday. H/D. "And he told me that he loved me, too." NonMagic.


You get smut for your b-day, Wheezy D, cuz Momma has writer's block on the multiple stories she has started for you. Lol. However, this smut can be seen as a preview for one story I'm writing for you. I love you with all my heart, honey, and I hope your 21st was the best! –Jaxx

Warnings: pr0n – the other white meat. (lol that makes no sense) & sap – not maple (that made slightly more sense … right? No? Okay).

By the by, one of my stories (My Heart of Hearts) has been nominated for a dot moon . net UFO Award. Please go to the site and vote for it. (Well, if you read it. If not, go read it and THEN go vote for it!)

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Our Bed

Harry stopped his old pickup in the small field and turned off the engine.

He glanced towards me once before deliberately leaning back in his seat, making sure to lower his shoulders as much as possible for that relaxed "I'm so cool, I do this all the time" look, and tapped his fingers to the Keith Urban song on the radio. I bit my lip and tried not to look too expectant, but he sighed anyway and looked out the driver's window with a frown on his face.

My teeth dug themselves further as I watched various parts of him twitch; his fingers, his mouth, his leg …

"Nervous?"

I glanced at him in bewilderment; he was two seconds from jumping out of the car James Bond style just to get away from me – and what we were going to do – and he was asking at me if _I_ was nervous.

"Er … No?"

He made a strange noise in his throat as if he wanted to swallow, clear his throat, and hiccup all at once and passed a hand through his untamed black hair that I found to be slightly too long, but somewhat fitting to his face. Somewhat. He had a weird look to him most of the time.

"I guess _you_ wouldn't be nervous about it," he grumbled and my eyes narrowed.

"Way to make me feel like a gigolo."

His expression changes very often. I can tell everything he feels and thinks in just five seconds: embarrassment, wanting to kick himself in the ass, urging himself to get over his anxiousness and get on with it. "Sorry."

"Yeah."

"I just thought …"

"I know," I told him, "Lots of people think it."

"Sorry."

"Yeah."

"Oh God," he breathed. "This is so fucking weird."

"I've never done anything like this either."

He looked at me as if I had just shot Santa Claus' sleigh out of the sky and was now beating the already weakened old man to death with the Easter Bunny and baby Jesus.

"What?"

"I've had … I've done things, you know," I admitted, my sheepishness causing my cheeks to burn uncomfortably. "I just … haven't done things with guys. So …"

Anxiety swelled in his expression before he nodded and everything seemed to just flow out of him. His shoulders sagged for real this time. "So that - earlier – was your first kiss with a guy?"

The burn reached my ears this time. "Well, no … I've kissed guys, not other things though."

"Oh, okay." Dixie Chicks came on and I reached over and turned off the radio. "'Guys'?"

I forced my gaze to his and I hastily informed him, "Just two. So … plural."

He nodded. "Plural." He rubbed a hand down his entire face, but stopped it at his mouth so that it looked as if he could catch any future screams of frustration in his palm.

"We can … go. We don't have to do anything. If you don't want to."

He dropped his hand – the only reason I know is it dropped into my line of vision because I was staring at his lap and not his eyes. He linked his fingers, then unlinked them, lifted a hand and when he dropped it once more, his glasses were being twirled between his pointer and thumb. I loved looking at him without his glasses.

His eyes were amazing. He tried to say that about my eyes once – in one strange awkward moment that made the lunch table mute for two solid minutes – but I secretly disagreed with him. Where my eyes were dull and plain, just grey and blah, his were green and exciting. Full of life and so many emotions. They sparkled and twinkled and made me wish that anything adequately compared to their color. Emeralds didn't gleam enough. Grass wasn't fresh enough. Money wasn't rich enough.

He didn't close those beautiful eyes until his nose was just barely brushing against the point of mine. I closed my own eyes and felt his hand, the left, clasp over my right. He lifted it to his shoulder, so I mirrored the action with my left hand and his right shoulder.

His face moved closer, just a bit, so that the tip of his nose slowly trailed up the side of mine and I trembled violently. And I think I gasped. And held tighter to him. And he kissed me and I almost cried.

Why was this so amazing?

I did not know that my thoughts had been voiced until his whisper of "I don't know" brushed against my bottom lip. I pressed closer to him, tightening my grip on him so that the back of his neck was cradled in the crook of my arm while the hand of my other limb was tangled in his wild hair. I tugged the pitch black strands and he yelped, then laughed, and in turn tugged my own stringy blond hair.

"You drive me crazy, city boy," he whispered after accidentally hitting his elbow on the horn and scaring the crap out of us.

"I want you," I whispered back. I slid my fingers under his t-shirt and admired myself briefly for causing his breath to hitch, then I buried my face into his neck, took a section of skin, and sucked. Nothing sounded better than his moan.

"We can't do this in here."

I pulled away slightly to look at his flushed face. "What? I thought you said no one comes over here this time of day."

"No, not that … I meant that we can't do this in the cab. It's too small and … you have long legs … They'll kick right through my ceiling." He chuckled when I punched him lightly on his chest.

"Then where? I'm not doing it in dirt."

"The bed?" he offered.

"Who's bed? We can't go to my house this time of day," I growled, waving at the setting sun in front of us. "My dad just got home and we sure as hell can't go to your place!"

"No, I meant the _truck_ bed."

My mouth snapped shut and I shivered slightly. I thought car sex was kinky, but … truck bed sex … out in the open air …

"Okay?"

I nodded at his nervous prod and kissed his cheek. "Yeah, let's do it."

"Enthusiasm," he laughed. "Nice."

He had opened the door and was already out of the truck before I could respond, so I gulped down the butterflies that were attempting push past the throbbing heart in my throat and once those little flutters were back home in my stomach, I got out the truck, too. I walked around the truck bed and met him at the back of his old Ford.

"Tarp?"

He gaped at the blue plastic sheets as if he had never seen them before and rushed around to the driver's seat. I saw him rummaging around behind his chair through the trucks window and he made a triumphant noise, slammed the door closed, and held up a blanket for me to inspect.

"That's better."

"Okay." He carefully laid the blanket – which must have been there since winter judging from the dust he shook out of it first – and looked at me for approval. I nodded and he smiled shyly. I pulled him into my arms and kissed him softly. "This is going to be perfect, Harry. Don't worry."

His shy smile didn't disappear as he helped me hop onto the bed, nor I helped pull him up, and not even when I pulled my t-shirt off. It changed slightly, but it was still there. I arranged my t-shirt – and then his after he copied me – into a pillow for my head and laid back against it, my naked chest heaving slightly from my forcing myself to breathe. He was on his knees above me so I moved my legs until a jean-clad thigh rested on either side of him.

"Ready?"

My question jolted him into action and he reached into his jeans and pulled out his wallet. In his wallet was a condom and he showed it to me with a bright smile.

"Lube?"

And the smile diminished … until I reached into my pocket, into my wallet, and pulled out two condoms and four small packs of lube.

"Roomy wallet."

"Well, at least it's not falling apart like yours," I joked. He made a face and tossed the small leather case onto my stomach, causing me to twitch, and he leaned over me. My arms draped over his naked shoulders, so he pressed himself down – only pausing to push the wallet off of my stomach.

"We have to take your pants off … so I can … you know."

"Oh, you kill me with your dirty talk."

"Shut up," he growled as he tugged one of my tennis shoes off and tossed it over his shoulder.

By the time his naked body was finally on top of mine, the sky – which had been turning a peachy orange when we first arrived – was a strange pink and lavender color, the clouds were dark violet. And I didn't open my eyes again until the sky was midnight blue and the stars twinkled down on us.

He was pressing into me and I was trying to breathe and not scream out in pain. It hurt so damn much and I decided then that I didn't care how awkward that period of time was, we were going to lengthen time spent stretching! I tried to focus on something else: the pace of Harry's harsh breaths or the crinkling noises the foil condom packet and lube packet made in my ear as his hand closed around them tighter and tighter. He finally stopped pushing in with a deep moan and began to press soft kisses on my collarbones.

I was grateful to the moon when he began his strokes; being able to see him amazed and pleasured expressions helped to ease the pain until he hit something inside me that dulled the pain completely. I gasped and wrapped my twitching legs around his piston-like hips. He was right; I would have kicked straight through the roof of his truck on this pursuit for mutual ecstasy. He pressed his forehead into my shoulder as he grunted out sweet words to me mixed with praises of me mixed with cries of my name.

"Slow – Slow … Slow," I panted, cupping his face so that his gaze caught mine in the darkness. I couldn't see the color but I could see the life in his gaze and the excitement. He pushed into me deeply and I shook in response. "Slow, Harry. Harry!"

He lifted himself over me and when he pressed down into me, he pressed his forehead to mine so that his trails of sweat became mine and mine became his. Then he slid himself out so exquisitely, excruciatingly slow that I want to scream for him to "FUCK ME!" so I did … and he did.

I rolled my hips, an action that almost killed me, but I did it once more simply because it made his groans sound different.

"Draco! God, I – Ah!"

He forced his hips down harder, lifting higher and diving deeper with every thrust, causing me to lift my lower half higher just to accommodate him and, just when I thought I was about to be bent in half completely, he hit my spot, my glorious, wonderful, blessed spot and destroyed my world in millions of ways – melting and shattering it, squeezing it and stretching until even my crested peak was bypassed on my trip to the moon I was suddenly so close to and the stars and the God I was screaming to.

When I fell back into my body, he was staring down at me with a strange expression that questioned everything. "What was that?" he asked, glancing down at the orgasm painted skin between us. I tried to glare, but my overall satisfaction must have reached him instead because, suddenly, it all dawned on him and he sped up his thrusts.

"Oh – ohohohohohohooooooooohhhh," I whimpered as he reached the place he had first introduced to me. He body was reared back at an awkward angle and he jerked above me, the pleasure coursing through him defeated his ability to control his movements. My Harry was so gorgeous. "Oh," he whimpered. He was so perfect. I wrapped myself around him and pulled him down so that he could wrap himself around me as well.

He pressed his face into my neck and whispered that he loved me.

And I whispered to him that I loved him, too.

And he promised that when we left this judgmental, godforsaken small town that he would get me a real bed.

And I told him that I loved him again.

And he told me that he loved me, too.

-End-

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Happy birthday, Love.


End file.
